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I drove over to this abandoned church yesterday afternoon, the Princess in tow, due to two completely separate emails that sent me on an intrepid quest to dig deeper into its place in outhouse history. Or, you know, traipse around on other people’s property and take pictures.
I had gotten an email recently from Lisa Carper Stott with the local historical society who is working to document various little known and almost lost sites in Roane County. She’s been trying to find out the name of the church pictured in this outhouse post. The name of the church is worn off the sign. I figured I’d mosey over and see if I could find anything on closer inspection. Plus, I’d gotten an email from a reporter working on an article about abandoned outhouses and the people (like me) who (weirdly) photograph and write about them. He was looking for a few quotes from me about my interest in photographing and writing about old outhouses. He also wanted a picture of me with an outhouse. (If my quotes and photo make it into the article, I’ll post all the info about it when it’s published.)
So I went over to my cousin’s house to pick up Morgan, who’d gone to church with Georgia yesterday. (Yes, I was too lazy to go!) I asked my cousin if he knew the name of that old church. He didn’t know but he had a couple lines to give me on who might. The Princess wanted to go straight home, but I told her we had to drive over to the old church with the outhouses so she could take my picture there. (It’s only a few miles away.) Having accompanied me on various other intrepid quests, she didn’t even question this plan.
I made her model for me first. She looks excited, doesn’t she?

She took a few pictures of me looking into the women’s outhouse.

Remember that giant seat for the women’s giant bottoms? That still seems so wrong.

Then she wouldn’t give me the camera back and I had to chase her down and beg for it.

I took a few extra pics of the inside of the outhouse and the giant potty seat.

Because I’m weird.
Then, in a case of serendipity that can only occur when you are as intrepid as I am, the son of the man who owns the church property came by and I was able to find out that the church was called Red Knob Union Church. Actually, he came by because he lives up the road and he thought I was there to vandalize it. Luckily, he didn’t shoot first and ask questions later.
I haven’t done an outhouse post in a while–though not for lack of interest. I had mentioned to the reporter that it’s hard to find a good outhouse. A lot of outhouses are either revamped into something else or falling part or somewhat modernized, so I’m often disappointed when I (lawlessly) creep into one.
Then it occurred to me what a weird thing that was to say at all. It’s hard to find a good outhouse has to rank right up there with various other statements I’ve made in the past year that I would never have predicted would come out of my mouth, including but not limited to, I’m sorry, I’m in a hurry, I have to go home and milk my goat, and I make my own laundry detergent.
Or, you know, and I must say uttered very appropriately a couple weeks ago while selling hot dogs at the middle school girls’ basketball game concession stand, Can I have your horse poop?
Posted by Suzanne McMinn on December 29, 2008
"It was a cold wintry day when I brought my children to live in rural West Virginia. The farmhouse was one hundred years old, there was already snow on the ground, and the heat was sparse-—as was the insulation. The floors weren’t even, either. My then-twelve-year-old son walked in the door and said, “You’ve brought us to this slanted little house to die." Keep reading our story....
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November 2009
"First it's glowing, then it's snowing! A pause, then screaming squalls and williwaws. Bright but bitter, then a thaw. Yet again it's cold and storming: What ever happened to global warming?"
Friday, Nov 20
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I love the church. I love the outhouse. I love that you love outhouses. But I really love the excuse, “I’m sorry, I’m in a hurry. I have to go home and milk my goat.” Even though I don’t have a goat, I think I’m going to use that one!
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One time we went to a midget house so to speak and took pictures. we dressed in 1900 clothing too. the front of the hosue had a large window in the door and on each side that was etched glass. there was a well on the back porch. the stairway was so narrow and the door frams only 5 feet. then the ownere was checking on his blind cow – drove up, slammed on his brakes in his pickup, got his shot gun out and ran toward us. we had to do some fast thinking, story planning and talking to get out of it too. we told him we were in college and doing project for english class – he let us go.
Hope they do a story you can post for us. so fascinating too.
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I love going into old abandoned houses in search of treasures. Would love to convert an old school or church like the one you shared with us, into a house. (Love the old stained glass windows, the thought of pews as furniture etc. Now, that we have converted a dairy barn into a home and horse stables time for a new project.
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Thank goodness for the historical societies for preserving a record of what’s gone before.
I’m sure that outhouse was quite the beauty in it’s day. My grandmother had one behind her little retirement house in Palmyra, Tennessee until they finally finished her indoor bathroom in 1975.
The local historical inn and farm gives tours where costumed volunteers explain the purpose of the potty jar as if it was ancient history. We used them when visiting the relatives in the 1960’s. HA.
Thanks for the photos of the outhouses. I love them and they bring up many memories. HA HA HA.
- Suzanne, the Farmer’s Wife
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When I was about ten years old and my cousin was nine, her dad bought a new camera and wanted to take artsy pictures. I remember at the time wishing he’d leave us alone, but now I’m glad he made us stand around by my grandparents’ outhouse, and down by the board fence, etc., in the brisk breeze. Those things aren’t there anymore, but he chronicled a bit of our family’s past (including two unsmiling girls with tangled hair–oh well).
If you wonder again about the name of an old church, you might get help from a local funeral home. I know our local funeral directors know the names and locations of every church and grave yard in the county, and there are hundreds! Just a thought…
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The house had to be burned down. It wasn’t fit to live in. I wish now that I had taken a picture of it, though. My parents keep a camper parked on the spot now, and spend weekends there.
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